One Last Dance
by Rockstar with a Vendetta
Summary: One-Shot. Once upon a time, the eligible duke of Queenscove danced with a forthright young lady from Seabeth and Seajen...


**Just a little ficlet I needed to break my writer's block...Enjoy!**

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"May I have this dance?"

"You're to be married next week," was the tart reply. "It wouldn't be seemly."

"Since when has Lady Ilane of Seabeth and Seajen ever been worried about what was seemly?"

Finally, the hint of a smile broke out across her face. Peering coyly up at him beneath her lashes, Ilane said, "Then why would the heir to a ducal house desire to dance with an unseemly lady such as myself?"

Baird smiled tenderly down at her. "Play not with my heart, Ilane. You know why I request this dance."

"To rebel one last time before you wed your lady from Haryse?" she inquired tartly. "I know you, Baird of Queenscove."

"Ah, Ilane," he murmured, taking her cool long-fingered hand into his. "If only you knew what you do to me. When your eyes look into mine, beloved of my soul, my heart ceases to beat, and it is only with the touch of your lips that it begins again—"

Her high peal of laughter drew many an eye. "Oh, Baird, I do hope your sons don't inherit your pitiful poetic skills," she chuckled, very much like the old vivacious Ilane of which he was so fond. "I fear they'll never marry a sensible woman."

"You have the tongue of a shrew, Ilane," he retorted good-naturedly. "I fear you'll never marry at all."

She smiled her peculiar, mischievous half-smile up at him, the one that had caught in his attention all those years ago, as she allowed him to guide her to the ballroom floor. The music was lively and required dance partners to frequently be twirled across the floor, but neither of them had any problems with keeping up with the other. It was times like these, for Baird, when he almost regretted his betrothal on the faintest of levels, when he almost wished, in a small area in the back of his head, that it was Ilane. She was slim and attractive in her elegance, but though she looked the part, he also knew quite well that she would never be happy as a duchess—she was much too spirited, and the life as a noble of his station would not suit her, no matter what he did to make it otherwise.

A sigh escaped Baird—he couldn't help it; as much as he loved his Haryse bride, it would be hard giving up his courtly love.

"Why the long face, Baird?" Ilane inquired teasingly.

"Ah, Ilane," he smiled, adjusting, along with her, as the fast beat ended and a much slower song came on. "It's going to be hard giving this up." And then, because he had always been able to speak freely to Ilane, he said, "I don't want my marriage to be formal—I want a companion, a friend, not just a wife."

"Maybe it will be like that at first," Ilane said, always practical. "But she will bear your sons and daughters, watch them start their own families, and grow old beside you, may the gods allow—I think that is cause for some kind of familiarity, don't you agree?"

"Perhaps," he allowed, feeling a bit better, for she never said anything she did not believe. "But yes, may the gods allow she live beside me for a long, long time, if it was meant to be love. I think one of the worst losses would be the death of a spouse."

"Oh, yes," she sighed.

"What about you, Ilane? What kind of man would have you to bear his sons?"

"He must be tall, dark, and handsome," she said, smiling up at him, "and must not mind that I don't want many children."

"You don't have many standards do you?" Baird asked dryly. "Dark and handsome will be a might bit easier than finding someone taller than you, beanpole," he added, wincing as she gave his arm a smart pinch.

"Mama blistered the last person who called me a beanpole," Ilane warned, but her eyes were bright with merriment. "No—I will be content with whomever I wed, as long as I wed for love."

Baird smiled. "I'm sure that whomever you choose will be very lucky indeed," he said.

And then the number ended. Baird gallantly surrendered her to one of her many suitors and retreated to a corner to contemplate his circumstances quietly, ignoring the yearning stares of many young, hopeful women. He took a sip of well-aged ale, rolling it through his mouth, and thought, _This_ _won't be so bad, I don't think. All we had was the kind of courtly love that would never lead to anything. We never even shared a kiss, or held hands. It wasn't romantic…it was fun. Nothing was ever going to come of it, and we both knew it, and I guess that makes it a little easier. I love her—of course I do, how could I not?—but it's not the love I would share with a wife._

Suddenly, Baird brightened. After all, it wasn't like Ilane and he were parting ways forever. It was just marriage. They would always be companions, though perhaps not as close as they were now. They shared memories, if not hearts, and that made all the difference.

He heard her peal of laughter, and smiled.

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**Review, please?**


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